


slender threads and things to treasure

by glitteratiglue



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series, and after, paternal relationships and how they mess you up: a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: “Tell me about your father,” Will told her seriously.Deanna blinked, surprised. That wasn't part of her game.





	slender threads and things to treasure

**Author's Note:**

> I missed these two.

When Deanna's father died, words swelled inside her.

Her mother did not let her speak of it; none of them did. They heard her half-formed thoughts, bursts of the anger and grief she was not trained enough yet to keep to herself. Being full Betazoids, they knew what she was thinking before she could say it. Deanna wanted to scream with the frustration of her every thought being known to others. With time, she learned to accept her failings as a Betazoid and a daughter, but she didn't forget.

It took ten years before she could talk of Ian Troi out loud: to a Starfleet officer, of all people.

“Tell me about your father,” Will told her seriously, the fifth time he just happened to bump into her at a social gathering. Invites to the university socials were often extended to the Starfleet officers, as they brought with them interesting gossip and news of the world beyond, so their meeting wasn't pure happenstance. She'd noticed him watching her when first they crossed paths and decided to make a game out of toying with his affections. It was what she'd done with the scores of dull Betazoid suitors her mother had been parading in front of her for years. She doubted Starfleet officers were much different.

"Tell me," Will repeated, then, more unsteadily, "Only if you want to, of course."

Deanna blinked, surprised. That wasn't part of her game. All the other times they'd talked, Will had been unappealingly cocky, calculating his every word and phrase in an effort to impress her and ultimately sleep with her, but that night, there was something different; he was open, lacking in any expectations. She wondered if he'd simply given up, or if there was more to it.

Unlike all the other men she had known in her life, he knew nothing of her past, and there was something irresistible about that. So she told Will everything—about the Westerns her father would read to her, the cowboy boots he replicated for her one particularly fun afternoon and every painful moment of the day he died—and he listened; he really listened, without reaction or judgement, or waiting for his turn to speak.

“I'm sorry,” he told her afterwards, looking away to pluck at the sleeve of his uniform, and there was an unfeigned shyness to him then that was entirely endearing. Lwaxana had often warned her daughter of the frustrations of human-Betazoid relationships, but right then, Deanna felt nothing but possibilities from this man.

With sudden boldness, she leaned over and kissed him. He responded slowly, but there was intent behind the action that made her tingle. She imagined she could feel the heat of his hands on her waist through the heavy fabric of her dress as he held her close.

Afterwards he looked stunned, but quickly recovered himself and drew her in for another kiss that left her breathless and wanting. Deanna could feel herself unspooling; she had to get control. She gently pulled back and reached for her glass.

Taking a sip of her drink, she told him: “I'm sure being a good listener always works when you're trying to get girls into bed.”

“I don't know,” Will said, trying to maintain a straight face even while his eyes were twinkling. “Does it work?”

Hours later, pressed together in the small bed in his Starfleet quarters, sharing space and sweat, she had to concede it probably  _did_ work.

Later still, he played her some discordant Earth music that was all over the place — she didn't like it, and she told him so.

“You'll see. Everyone feels like that about jazz at first,” he said confidently.

Deanna shook her head and pushed him back down to the mattress. 

* * *

Being the object of Will's focus could be dizzying at times. He applied that same single-minded confidence to everything he did, including his courting of her. It might have overwhelmed someone with a less disciplined mind; Deanna had no intention of being overwhelmed.

She often reminded herself of his faults. Unlike her, he was incapable of being still for a second, which drove her mad: Will tapped his feet, drummed his fingers on her desk while she studied and hummed tunelessly to himself at every opportunity. In an intellectual debate, he would always play devil's advocate, taking on the most ridiculous points of view while still trying to win the argument; it irritated her intensely, and she always won anyway.

It was harder to pretend not to see Will's numerous redeeming features. While he had terrible taste in music, he never stopped trying to understand the music and art of her people, and accompanied her to many performances, even when she could tell he was bored. The sex was great—he was giving in bed, but just the right side of pushy about what he wanted as well—and he was happy to debate the finer points of philosophy afterwards. He made her laugh all the time.

Eventually, she discovered they were more alike than she had thought. Will had no father to speak of, either; he had lost him to grief over a mother he had never known. Deanna’s heart ached the night he told her, and she instinctively knew that Will had shown her something rare and precious about himself. It had hardened his heart, she understood that well enough, and maybe the persona he put on for others made more sense to her now than it had before. She kept his confession close, but never stopped hoping he might one day reconcile with his father.

As the months of Will’s assignment ticked away, she tried to ignore her heart, just as she tried not to listen to her mother's warnings.

 _I'm very fond of Will, little one,_ Lwaxana sent one night over dinner _. But what will happen when he goes?_

Deanna stonewalled her mother with all the mental shielding she could muster.

They talked of marrying when he got some shore leave and she clung to the idea, holding it close inside herself while being afraid to speak it out loud. What they had was fragile, like a bird's wings. She feared that to articulate this thing would tear it beyond all repair.

* * *

On the  _Enterprise_ , Will was remote and she was guarded, afraid of picking at the scabs left on old wounds.

That all changed when Tasha died; the petty feelings Deanna had nurtured in her heart hardly seemed to matter in the wake of that crushing loss.

Their fledgling friendship started slowly: the occasional chat, sitting next to each other at crew music recitals. They were careful to never talk about what had gone before; it was not long past and Deanna feared any mention would drag the hurt to the surface.

The night after Will's father left, he finally brought it up — it didn't surprise her that dwelling on one aspect of his past made him consider another part of it. They were in Ten Forward, swapping academy stories over shots; she was emotionally exhausted after a full roster of grief counselling, and he'd needed a distraction in the wake of the damage Kyle Riker had wrought.

“Do you ever think we made a mistake?” Will said, numerous shots of synthehol later when the room was spinning before his eyes.

“Look at us now.” Deanna took his hand and ran her fingers over the calluses the years had wrought upon them. “This doesn't feel like a mistake.”

It wasn't. The years had brought them success and rank pips beyond what they had ever imagined, throwing their early sacrifices for the sake of career into sharp relief. Most of the time, she thought, it had been worth it. There were times when she didn't think that, but then she thought Will probably had those times too. It didn't mean the past few years and all the ways they'd grown had been a mistake.

Will looked down at his hand in hers, and gently drew it back. He couldn't keep her out anymore; underneath that stiff command persona and the hunger to prove himself worthy, she sensed something bruised and tender that had been there all along.

Deanna saw it at once because she felt it too, that hurt she carried under her skin on a daily basis, that she never spoke aloud but felt keenly all the same. He still loved her deeply, that much was clear.

He leaned in and kissed her once, breaking the tension. It wasn't romantic, not exactly, but it was sweet and vulnerable of Will to offer himself up to her like this, as a friend, at the risk of being stunned with a phaser if he got it wrong.

That thought clear in her mind, Deanna started to laugh, and he frowned.

“I'm sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It's the beard. It tickles.”

“Ouch,” Will said, rueful as he rubbed at the rasp of his stubble. But he was smiling, and her heart felt lighter already.

“Yuck,” Deanna said, only half-serious.

She'd say the same thing years later, when an encounter with metaphasic radiation would draw them together once more, this time for good.

“I want to talk about him again,” she said, and shifted her gaze to his face to watch his reaction.

“Please do,” Will replied, his smile soft with understanding, and some of the tension inside her eased.  He blinked several times. “I may go to sleep in the middle of it, but please talk. I like to listen."

He settled back on the couch, and she leaned into him like it hadn't been years since they last did this, fitting herself against his side.

“Well, I was reading this twentieth-century Western earlier, one of his favourites,” Deanna began. "I think it was the  _The Last  Gunfighter._ The plot went like this —” She paused. “Do you really want to hear about an old book?”

“Go on,” Will encouraged, sounding half asleep, but in her mind, she could feel him valiantly trying to stay awake and listen to her words.

Deanna grinned to herself and kept on talking.


End file.
